Problem Child (Jane Doe #2) - Victoria Helen Stone Page 0,3
he’s lost all sight of vulnerability and any hint of wisdom. Why shouldn’t he have another drink? He’s a goddamn successful lawyer on his way to making partner, and he’s a man, damn it. A big man with a wife at home and a piece on the side, and one more ballbuster making eyes at him over lunch too. He’s a king among men, and he’s never lost at anything.
He accepts the final drink and raises it high. “To another great deal.”
“Thank you,” I respond, taking full credit. I deserve it.
Rob is a showboat, and he reflects the light of better lawyers off his shiny facade, recycling their knowledge and taking all the praise. The first few times we worked together, I kept my mouth shut, because I was still learning the delicate intricacies that make up the web of politics in this office. But I know them now. It will take me a couple of years to even be considered for partner, but they won’t notice me at all with Rob glinting into their eyes all the damn time.
“I’ve got this,” I say when the bill comes. I’ve spent almost eighty bucks on whiskey this afternoon and I don’t regret one penny. “I owe you for everything you’ve taught me this year, Robert. What a ride it’s been.”
“Anything you need, Jane,” he drawls with a wink. “Your work is really coming along.”
I worked on the legal team of an international conglomerate in Kuala Lumpur for five years. Rob worked for a furniture manufacturing group in St. Paul before he started here. He can kiss my ass and thank me for the privilege as far as I’m concerned.
“I’ve got those final numbers you asked for on the North Unlimited proposal,” I say, reminding him of the meeting we’re heading into.
“Good. Good job. I’ll stop by and grab them when we get back.”
“Yeah. That’ll give you half an hour to learn what I know so you can steal the show.”
His flushed face crumples for a brief moment. “What?”
I giggle as if I’ve just made a silly joke. “I get so nervous before these big client meetings.”
His lizard brain prompts a slow blink, sensing the danger of what I said a moment ago, but his ego wins out and he grins at my tipsy giggling. I dare to reach out and touch his hand as if I’m feeling naughty after the spritzers.
I am feeling naughty, but it’s not the spritzers. It’s the power. His defenses are down and his confidence is up, and I could make anything happen right now. I could tell him my condo is right around the corner, confess that I’ve thought about him while I touch myself in bed at night. That idea is practically lesbian porn for this future business leader of America. I could get him back to my place and compromised within a few minutes.
Or I could hit RECORD on my phone as we walk and ask him whether the mournful receptionist is a good lay and whether her breasts are as nice as they look under sweaters. He’s drunk enough to brag about it, and then I’d have him under my thumb, his job and his marriage in danger.
Really, I don’t understand why people don’t record more conversations in life. Is there any downside?
But I don’t need to work that hard this time around, risking animosity and accusation. And I don’t need to put my current relationship on the line by letting this boy wonder touch me. He deserves a much lazier approach.
Rob doesn’t sway or stumble as we walk back toward the office, but he looks confused whenever he stops talking. Not that he stops talking much. He carries on loudly, talking about his wife, of all things. How great she is. How beautiful. The trip she took to India to learn advanced yoga and meditation. How much she loves cooking. He brags about the blog she hosts on positivity.
She sounds like a goddamn nightmare, but she does have a great ass, I’ll give her that. I’ve been to her Instagram, and she’s definitely positive about how she looks in pink Lululemon pants.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Rob practically shouts.
“Oh, please do,” I prompt.
“Savannah might be pregnant. She’s taking a test tonight. She’s been taking the vitamins for months, laying off wine. Just in case.”
“Wow. That’s cool. But you have to get sperm involved too. The vitamins alone won’t do it.”
“Yeah,” he answers, his eyes bright with some far-off vision. Then he